No regrets
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: He'd looked at her as if he'd wanted to kiss her.


Disclaimer: Not my characters.  
Written for Madeline for the Alias ficathon.  
Elements: Jack/Nadia, reruns of a cult TV show, a floral-printed bedspread, buttons.

* * *

Nadia sat on the edge of the bath tub and watched steam rise off the water. She lowered her hand to test the temperature, then pulled back, hissing in pain.

Too hot.

Sighing, Nadia turned the faucet, adding some cold water to make it more bearable. She stood, letting her robe slip off her shoulders, and glanced backwards at the mirror. She sighed again; bruises already covered the lower part of her back. If she hadn't been wearing the Kevlar vest, she could be paralyzed right now.

Worse, she could be dead.

Blinking back tears as she realized suddenly just how close she'd come to losing her life, she stepped into the bath tub and sat down.

She remembered stumbling forward as if she'd been pushed, remembered landing on her hands and knees, remembered Jack falling on top of her. "Stay down," he'd whispered. Then, "Are you alright?"

He had stayed on top of her until the gunfire stopped, then she'd felt him tugging at her shirt, checking to see if she'd been hit.

"I'm fine," she'd said finally, batting his hands away as she sat up.

And he'd looked at her as if – as if –

Nadia shook her head, her thoughts returning to the present. Her adrenaline had been racing, she hadn't been thinking clearly, she was reading too much into the situation. Jack had saved her for Sydney, because she was his daughter's sister, because she was his wife's child.

That was all there was to it.

He would have died for her. She knew that much to be true; it didn't matter what his motives were.

And he'd looked at her as if he'd wanted to kiss her.

She bit back a sob; there, she'd said it.

Nadia sank down, letting the water cover her completely. When she came back up for air, she touched her fingers to her lips, wondering just how soft Jack's mouth was.

She should have kissed him, she thought; she could have blamed it on the heat of the moment and pretended it meant nothing. At least then she would have known, and she wouldn't be sitting here torturing herself about why Jack had been looking at her like that.

"He's your sister's father," she told herself. "He's your mother's husband."

By the time she got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel, she had turned that into her mantra.

She'd just settled under the bedcovers – they were staying at a traditional English bed and breakfast, complete with floral bedcovers and curtains – and was flicking through channels on the TV when there was a knock at the door.

"Nadia?"

Jack.

Your sister's father, your mother's husband.

Nadia slipped out of bed and went to answer the door.

Sister's father, mother's husband.

"Hi."

Jack seemed ill-at-ease. "I just wanted to check that you were alright."

She nodded. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

He held up a paper bag. "And I wasn't sure if you'd had dinner yet."

"Oh." Her fingers brushed his as she took the bag. "Thanks."

They stood like that for a long moment, and she added, "I forgot to say thank you. For saving my life."

He looked away, then back at her, and this time he had the same expression as earlier. Nadia nodded slowly, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to, only that she couldn't refuse.

Jack gently guided her backwards into the room, letting the door swing shut behind them. She put the bag of food on the dresser, then looked at him uncertainly. He tugged at the belt of her robe, then slowly eased it down over her shoulders, until she was naked from the waist up. He turned her around so that her back was to him, and she felt his cool fingers move over her bruised flesh.

Sister's father, she thought in the instant before his lips touched her shoulder blade.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

She couldn't.

"Tell me to leave." He slid his hand around her waist.

She didn't.

"Nadia—"

She spun around in his arms and kissed him. They stumbled to the bed; Nadia clinging to him with one hand and tugging at his buttons with the other.

* * *

He was gone when she woke up and Nadia tried very hard to pretend she wasn't disappointed. She tried even harder to pretend there wasn't a small part of her that was somewhat relieved.

She'd slept with Jack, who in another lifetime could have been her stepfather. Nadia hadn't been to confession in a long time, but she could just imagine what the priest would say if she told him this.

She rolled onto her stomach and gazed at the television. It was set to mute, but Nadia recognized the show: FBI agents, one of them chasing after aliens. Nadia had enjoyed it when it was still on the air.

She sighed; clearly her attraction to older, handsome men in suits wasn't a new thing.

She turned the television off, then flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering how she was going to face Jack this morning – and how she was going to deal with the long flight back to Los Angeles with him. Could she pretend nothing had happened? That everything was the way it had always been?

Yes, she could, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to.

Nadia was well aware that nothing about this situation was normal – or healthy. Last night, in Jack's arms, it had not mattered this he was Sydney's father, that he'd shared her mother's bed for more than a decade, that he had once been her father's best friend.

Now, with morning sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, Nadia found it somewhat strange that she did not actually regret what had happened.

"Good morning."

She sat up, glancing in surprise towards the bathroom door, where Jack was standing wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He did not look like a man who had any regrets either.

"Morning," Nadia said.

"We leave in an hour."

Nadia nodded, then slid off the bed and slipped past him into the bathroom.

Suddenly the prospect of a long flight back sounded very promising.


End file.
